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Duck to Water.

Comfort is a stranger
in places
as intimate
as the skin,

so how could I ever
have the hope
of belonging, feeling
like a duck
to water (again)?

Given the polluted
fluid I have found myself in,
not sure that I even want to belong
in the herds
that collectively
make all of you.

(Bullshit
groupthink herd
mentality, all souls
here stuck
in a state of CTD spinning
ever tighty, forever
downward, into the blackened
hole at the bottom
of the) as we (sink).

Perhaps I am
better off alone, out
of place, struggling in elements
not my own. It could very
well be a merciful buffer
given what I feel
(been told) is to come.

Why be one
with a world of madness
plowing down
the road of suicide
like amphetamine-fueled
lemmings, distracting themselves
with constant internal strife?

Tickets to the interactive
circus. Not only that, but front
row seats. Embrace
opportunity. Watch
and take notes
for one, for all.

Document the downfall
so we can see
where we go wrong.

(For all our flaws,
brother, take heed:
we fought till the end.)

Must we live through this again?
Asphyxiated gills, foreign skin

I (we) must fight
for a home (of strangers),
claim our place, fight
for mind and heart again.

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